


our hearts like an enemy

by gigi_originally



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Sword in the Stone (1963)
Genre: Disney Multiverse, F/M, Magic, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1298266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigi_originally/pseuds/gigi_originally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wendy Darling escaped Neverland more than once. She never quite managed to escape Peter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our hearts like an enemy

**Author's Note:**

> For my Co-Queens, Tami & Yazzy, who get me through the worst of times. Thank you, my dears. I cannot hope to express my love for you two in adequate words.

It is a cold, wet April morning when Wendy Darling appears in the middle of London in her ragged nightgown. The few people who had been around to see it said she appeared as though out of thin air. She tells them she had just sprinted around the nearby corner and they had not seen her. No one really bothers to dissect to the truth of it.  No one would believe it if she explained every last detail.

The thing is: Wendy Darling _had_ appeared out of thin air that day. She had been brought back to her home city through a portal created by a magical bean she managed to steal off a demon boy who never grew up. She knew, from the moment she set foot on London cobblestone, that she was not safe. As an escapee from the most effective prison imaginable, she would never be safe again. So she immediately began to run.

Wendy did not return home. She did catch a glimpse of her family once; was relieved to see her parents healthy and her brothers strong. Her heart ached with the need to contact them. She could feel the muscles of her arms tensing against the urge to raise and hold them all to her. To return to them even briefly, however, would mean knowingly endangering them. She would be making them targets for the worst kind of horror she could imagine.

Instead of letting them know she lived, she watched them for a whole day. She made sure her father was still employed, her mother still quietly working with the suffragettes, her brothers both happy in school. Then, she placed a protective ward (with a spell learned under the tutelage of the very thing she was warding against) over the nursery window where Michael now slept alone and turned her back on the Darling name forever.

#

Wendy spent the next year moving around, finding the few people left in her world with that special aura of magic she had learned to taste, honing her own skills in the dark shadows of reality. She knew there was one whom she should seek, a legend even in the stories of the non-believing, but she did not want to learn from a man. She found his nemesis instead -- an eccentric old witch with a penchant for purple hues who called herself Madame Mim. Wendy convinced the sorceress to apprentice her. It had taken only one retelling of her terrible tale of Neverland, of magical boys and their dangerous, treacherous promises of forever for the old woman to summarily adopt Wendy into her dark corner of the world. The old woman’s distaste for sunlight was no hindrance to Wendy’s already adjusted eyes.

Far away from the society she had known as a child, Wendy grew into a beautiful young woman during her time as Mim's apprentice. It was a fact noted by all the men in the women's acquaintance. From the old, wizened legend-in-disguise who showed up once every few years for tea and a duel to the young chimney sweep who lived a few streets over, Wendy's feminine charm was widely appreciated. Wendy paid no male any mind whatsoever. Mim found it endlessly entertaining to watch Wendy break young man's heart after young man's heart but the old witch never commented on it. She had seen the heartbreak in the girl's eyes the first time they had spoken, when Wendy had still been raw from having her heart dragged across Neverland's rocks. Mim did not ask about him because Mim had loved the wrong boy too once upon a time. (He still shows up every other year for a cup of tea and duel.)

Finally, when Wendy and her magic were deemed ready, she used a little of her stolen Pixie dust, some ground up magic bean paste of Mim's, a pinch of salt and drop of her own blood (because there is healing water from Neverland inside her, the kind that counteracts Dreamshade) to work a spell. The eighteen year old girl disappeared through an archway of green and purple magic.

#

On the other side, Peter did not greet her. Wendy knew why: there was always a thinness to the air when the king was gone. The Piper played his song in other worlds and Neverland held its breath until his return. Three years absence did nothing to dull the girl's memories. Her heart was as raw as the day its scars were first inflicted; her mind had only grown shaper with the pain. She knew she had some time before the others--his Boys--realized something was amiss. They were nowhere as attuned to the island's magic as Pan.

Indeed, Wendy supposed that, with her newly acquired knowledge and skill, _she_ could feel the island better than they could. She was proven right faster than she hoped. The air shifted suddenly and the hairs on her arms buzzed with awareness. Wendy could feel a new pulse in the very fabric of Neverland's reality; felt the moment Pan rent it asunder to allow himself inside. She felt the gentle caress of his magic as he sewed it back up, remaking his kingdom whole.

Oh but he was not as good a tailor as she. Her rip was well-concealed, her stitches minute compared to the great, heaving pulls of his magic thread. It was pure over-expenditure of power. No wonder he was weakening so rapidly, she thought with grim satisfaction. Like all boys, he had no finesse.

And she had no time. She turned on her heel to leave with a thick, solid branch of snapped pixie wood in one hand and a jar half full of inert dust in the other. Her foot came down hard on a twig and she knew, immediately, when the island whispered her presence to him. Instead of running like she used to--like he expected of the girl who had fled and simultaneously been tossed out of the realm three years ago--she straightened her spine, lifted her chin and walked with purpose back toward the clearing where her portal awaited.

He was there, of course, stood with his arms crossed and his hip cocked right in front of her way out. But it wasn't her  _only_ way out. She had learned that much at least. His eyes widened when she broke through the underbrush and into the dreary illumination of the clearing.

"Well,  _well_ ," he said lowly, his voice deep and breathy in a way she would rather not remember. "Wendy Darling returns to me. Yet again. Do you miss me that much, Bird?"

He was trying to needle her as usual; break through the calm façade that she presented and free the fire that crackled within the cage of her ribs; the fire that licked at his fingers as they traced her skin. She would not give him the satisfaction. Wendy Darling had not abandoned everything she loved to simmer in the face of Peter Pan's frosted heart. He would melt or move.

She let out a long-suffering sigh and said, "Hello Peter."

If she had one, she would have checked her pocket watch. Across the few feet of space between them, his eyes narrowed enough to make his carefree brow furrow. They could both play with needles. Then his face cleared as quickly as his notorious memory.

"Very well, let's play," he said with a chuckle and sweeping motion that was half a bow, "What brings the great Wendy-bird back to the nest?"

He began moving, stepping closer and closer in long, slow strides. She tightened her hold on the items behind her back, fully aware of the Lost Boys surrounding them, specifically of Felix at her back. The more dangerous threat, however, was in her face.

Her vision filled with the green fabric of Peter's rough tunic as his broad shoulders blocked her view. She had not grown much in her time away--she had added less than an inch of height to her frame since last time--and he still loomed over her. He still smelt of forest, of sea, of air. He was Neverland and she had come to him, yes, but only because one's worst enemy is oneself.

Mim had taught her much about overconfidence and the weaknesses of men with power. Just because they had more power did not mean they knew how to use it wisely. In fact, the more power they wielded, the less likely they were to be careful. Peter was as reckless as they came because his power was unlimited on the island.

Wendy would fight him tooth and nail but she would not fight him in Neverland.

Peter leaned in close and put his mouth to her ear. His hot breath ruffled the soft hairs along her neck as he spoke quietly so only she could hear. She tried with all her might to stifle the shudder that clawed its way up her spine. In this she did not succeed. He was close enough to see her frame tremble from the force of it, close enough to feel the fringes of her being brush against the fringes of his and to feel the electricity that sparked along those points. He was close enough that the hairs standing on end on her skin reached out for their counterparts on him.

"I thought I told you," he whispered and she nearly screamed at the way his voice made her insides clench: "Never break in somewhere unless you have a way out."

Then his hand was on her hip drawing her closer to his loins, his face turned to nuzzle into the wild mess of her hair, her hands earning splinters from the branch digging into her contracting fist. She wanted desperately to swing her arm up and connect the blunt force of the wood with the side of Peter's head. But there was another traitorous part of her that wanted to lean into Peter's warmth and let him hold her, let him welcome her, even as she hated him.

They belonged to each other even if they could never belong together.

For a single, heart aching moment, she let it happen. Wendy let Peter wind his wiry arms around her still small frame and hold her like a lover, like he used to, once upon a dream gone by. She turned her face into the familiar curve between his shoulder and neck and breathed him in; let him support her weight as she let herself feel. She felt the warmth of the island as Peter held her again, felt the wind pick up pace to match his heartbeat, felt the lapping of the waves as his lips traced her brow, and all of it almost made her cry.

_Almost._ Because she could also feel the Boys slink away. This was not for them to see and they knew it. This was Mother and Father as Husband and Wife. This was a game they could not play.

#

Wendy ran blindly, letting her new attunement guide her across the island rather than her eyes. Her eyes she kept fixed on the ground beneath her, focused on each new footstep so that she would not trip or step into Dreamshade. She did not put it past him to tangle her limbs in the dreaded vines.

As she ran, she cursed herself for being a stupid, fallible girl who bent to the sweet whispers and sweeter caresses of the worst of all boys. She had let him have her right there in the clearing; let him press her up against a tree and push her skirt up over her hips. Her legs had opened to welcome him; her secret flesh parting even more easily, salivating in its own way for his touch. The branch had fallen harshly from her grasp as he kissed her. She had held onto the jar though. Even as he worked his hips against hers and made her moan and keen for him to move faster, harder; even when she begged for release, she had held that glass jar tight. She pressed it into his back as her muscles fluttered in ecstasy around him.

Whether he had noticed or cared, she could not tell in that moment. In that moment, it had been Peter and Wendy and all the twisted mess of love and lust they felt for each other expressed in motion.

But then Peter had spoken and broken true love's fragile spell. His words were a breathless confession ghosting across her earlobe: "By the Gods, Bird, I've missed you."

Now, having shoved him roughly away, she ran with the slick mix of their juices dripping down her legs. She could hear his feral growl in the hard gusts of wind that buffeted her as she moved and part of her wanted to turn back to him, go back and make him promise to love her like that, to miss her like he said he had, and she would stay. But she could not.

Wendy Darling had no power in Neverland. Even with Peter Pan gasping her name as she brought him pleasure, she would never be on equal footing with him here. So she ran.

Ahead, the trees thinned and angry waves lapped at the abused rocks that formed Neverland's far shore. Behind her, Peter gained ground with his growing rage. He might even be flying, if that was still possible. Wendy did not take time to consider it, what it might mean whether he could or could not in that moment. She centered all her energy on getting to the rocks.

She had just scrambled up onto the top of one that jutted out like a shelf above the sea when Peter alighted beside her.

His face was hard but there was gleam of light in his eye, a mix of enjoyment, exhilaration and the prospect of dawning victory. Deeper than that though, if Wendy had cared to look, she would have seen the faintest glimmer of hope. If she had seen it, Wendy Darling would have promptly ignored it.

"Caught you," Peter crowed as he stood to his full height. He  _had_ run after her, it seemed, and he had climbed the rocks just as she had. He had an easier time of it, of course, in his trousers and with his long boy limbs. Wendy doubted his legs were as shaky as hers were; doubted he had felt the pleasure of their reunion as acutely as she had (she was terribly wrong but she would never know that). It was unfair advantage to him but he was Peter Pan and this was Neverland.

"Not this time," she huffed out between rattling breaths. Her lungs were desperate for air. They would have it once she was free again.

In a swift if jerky moment, she brought her reclaimed branch of pixie wood upward and made as though to stab at Peter. Taken by surprise at her motion, the boy shifted one foot backward but it was enough to stretch the fabric of his reality taut around him.

Infusing her magic in the wood, Wendy stabbed forward and the jagged end of the branch caught in mid-air. She yanked as hard as she could and the very air before her split with a wretched scream. Wendy was glad she could not properly see what was happening behind the growing portal because that scream was Peter's. She could see his green-covered knees hit the rock and that was enough for her.

Madame Mim watched her with a gleeful, almost maddened grin on her face from the other side of the tear. Wendy threw the jar through first then plunged in headfirst. She felt Peter's fingers slip around her ankle and instinctively she kicked out with her other foot. Her heel connected solidly with his finger and she was abruptly freed.

#

"Nice of you to pop in," Mim greeted as Wendy righted herself. "Was that your young man then?"

"That was Pan," Wendy responded with a terse nod. She tried to be as emotionless as she could be given the ordeal she had just endured. When she raised her eyes to meet Mim's heavy gaze, the other woman was still smiling the enigmatic smile she reserved for conversations about Peter. It made Wendy shift uncomfortably, which in turn reminded her of the mess between her legs. Her cheeks flared an uncontrollably bright red and Mim finally laughed outright.

She walked toward Wendy and pressed the jar of stolen pixie dust into the girl's hands. As the old witch left, she said with a wink, "Clean yourself up, Darling. And maybe find a collar to hide those bite marks."

** TBC **


End file.
